Prologue 



"THE MILLS of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding 

 small," sang the poet Longfellow. As the mind glances back 

 through geological ages, we see the "mills of God" at work wind 

 and water, fire and flood, frost and sun, cosmic convulsion and 

 seismic upheaval all uniting in preparation of earth's surface 

 for the coming of life. We see form take shape from substance, 

 see order emerge from chaos. The primordial mists fade and 

 life slowly spreads over the low surfaces of the earth vegetation, 

 animal, man. The seasons in orderly procession come and go; 

 law rules. The eternal cycle of nature has been established 

 from earth, through life, back to earth. 



In contemplative mood, we hold a handful of rich, dark 

 earth humus. It is without form, yet within it all forms are 

 potential. It is without structure, yet within it all the wonders 

 of civilization sleep. It appears dead, yet within it all life re- 

 sides. Negligently we toss it to the ground. A movement 

 focuses our attention. What is that small, living thing we have 

 so rudely disturbed? Why, it is an earthworm just a poor, 

 naked, blind worm, without tooth or claw, no weapon of offense 

 or defense, no feet to run away, no mind to be afraid. And yet, 

 for a moment we have held within our hand one of the "mills 

 of God," one of the major forces which have wrought mightily 

 upon the face of the earth that life may exist and continue to 

 exist. 



